


The Price of a Life

by BlackBat09



Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Minor Spoilers for Deathstroke #36, Minor Spoilers for Red Hood and the Outlaws #27, Spoilers for Heroes In Crisis #1, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 16:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16412114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackBat09/pseuds/BlackBat09
Summary: He’s going to commemorate Roy in the best way he knows how- doing something truly, truly stupid.





	The Price of a Life

**Author's Note:**

> SladeRobin Week 2018, Day 1: Deal with the Devil.

He was supposed to be safe.

That’s all Jason can think, Bruce tells him that Roy is dead, that Sanctuary, Roy’s _rehab for capes,_ was compromised.

He was supposed to be safe there, getting better, and now- now he’s gone.

Roy is gone, and Bruce is sitting here trying to- what, soften the blow? Why the hell is he even _here?_ \- tell Jason how they’re going to find whoever killed Roy.

And everyone else, too, Jason guesses.

But this is so fucking old. An “I’ll fix it” from Bruce means about as much as a magic eight ball prediction, and Jason’s too tired for this.

An inkling of a plan develops in Jason’s head, and he lets it bloom into something more as he and Bruce talk. Yeah. Yeah, it’ll work.

“That’s a lot of people who’ll be out looking for revenge. No one needs me in the mix.”

It’s not a _lie_ \- Jason’s not out for revenge. He leaves Bruce at the fucked-up diner with hardly a good-bye, ignores the way the man hesitates, arms half-open, like he expected them to _hug it out_ or something; too little, too late, Bats; hopping into the pickup truck he’d stolen at the last rest stop and making it five miles out before he pulls over to the side of the road and cries.

The sobs leave him feeling empty and even more exhausted, eyes raw and throat aching, and he lays curled in on himself on the front bench seat for a while before he can bring himself to sit up and take hold of the steering wheel again.

He’s going to commemorate Roy in the best way he knows how- doing something truly, truly stupid.

Jason is aware that his plan is built on a dumb idea, the thought nagging him as he drives into Gotham in a car he lifted two towns over, leaving it behind at a gas station in place of _another_ vehicle to get him up to Arkham’s gate. It's the sort of stupid decision so bizarre that Jason doubts even Bruce would have anticipated this when he told Jason about Roy, but, then again, Jason's not entirely sure if Bruce even has the knowledge that led Jason down this wonderfully idiotic path.

Outsmarting the Batman. Amazing. Jason would rub it in his face, if it weren’t for the fact that Jason’s still technically banned from Gotham, and, also, fuck Bruce.

Some not-too-insubstantial bribes and a few little reminders of just _who he is_ to the right people, and Jason is standing in an interrogation room with none other than Deathstroke.

"I need to make a deal."

Despite the Arkham staff warning him that the collar and the drugs Slade were getting would leave him unresponsive, Jason sees the smirk twitch across Slade's lips, the way that single blue eye lights up with an unearthly glow as he straightens up and then reclines in his chair, seeming unbothered by the chains jangling at his wrists and ankles.

"Now, we both know that ratty thing you call a soul won't cut it as currency, little bird. Not after what the Demon’s Daughter did to you."

Jason scowls at him in a way that’s probably more aptly referred to as a pout, arms crossed over his chest at the condescending coo that Slade uses to address him.

“I don’t care. I’ll pay however you want, I’ll- get you out of this stupid fucking place. I’ll let you take years off my life. I don’t give a shit. I need you to deal with me,” Jason insists, hesitating for a long moment before tacking on, “Please.”

Slade’s brows raise, the mean little twist of his lips growing into an incredulous smile, accompanied by laughter that makes Jason want to punch the merc in the face. “The Red Hood saying _please?_ Oh, _uccello_ , what have you gotten yourself into? Worse than daddy dearest banning you from Gotham?”

He doesn’t hold back this time. Slade’s got five inches and god knows how many pounds on him, but Jason is upset and _angry_ , and what Talia did to make his soul unfit for trade also enables Jason to lift Slade up by his prison orange and slam him against the nearest wall. “Shut the fuck up and listen to me, hellspawn. This isn’t about the Bat. It’s not about Gotham. It ain’t even about _me_.”

“A selfless demon deal, now that’s a new one,” Slade murmurs dryly, and Jason slams a fist into the wall beside his head, which only really succeeds in bruising Jason’s knuckles and getting a little tsk of reprimand from the demon in his grasp. “What is it about, then, Jason?”

Eyes narrowed, Jason waits for the slight shake in his grip to fade and the lump of tears in his throat to go down before he answers. “Arsenal’s dead.”

Those brows tick up again, but the smile vanishes, and even the ghostly light fades from Slade’s eye as he looks down at Jason for a moment. “My condolences.”

He almost takes it, but if Jason accepts that, he’ll cry, and he can’t shed tears now. Roy would never let him live down crying in front of Deathstroke. “I don’t want your fucking condolences, I want you to bring him back.”

The moment of sympathy passes: the demon is back, the salesman, the dealer, and he chuckles at Jason’s request, clicking his tongue at him again. “That’s quite the request, _uccello._ Deals like this are usually a life for a life, a soul for a soul- you intend to kill someone for me, pretty bird?” he purrs.

“You want someone dead?” Jason responds flatly, and Slade actually seems to consider it for a moment before shaking his head.

“I’d rather get Nygma myself. More satisfying that way.”

Jason doesn’t comment on that, or how much he understands the sentiment with his own least favorite Arkham patient, just looks at Slade, waiting for him to name his price as the demon takes his sweet fucking time. Slade looks back to him curiously.

“You really would give anything for him, wouldn’t you, Jason? Couldn’t let _‘til death do us part_ happen so soon.” It’s only the throb in his knuckles already that keeps Jason from punching the wall again, instead just baring his teeth at Slade, seething a little, the weight of the blade Roy forged him for their anniversary heavy on his hip.

“Shut the fuck up. Gimme a price already, before I find someone else.”

Slade just scoffs. “Do you _know_ anyone else?”

“Constantine does.”

“Fuck Constantine.” With a lecherous little grin, he adds, “I’d recommend it, actually, if you’re back on the market-“

Jason slams his forehead against Slade’s nose. The crunch doesn’t make him feel any better, but it does shut Slade the fuck up, and that’s what he was really going for.

“Are you gonna be useful or _not._ ”

“Touchy,” Slade murmurs, tongue darting out to lick the blood from his upper lip, “but, yes. I’ll bring your beloved back.”

“Bring him back right. Not- broken and feral,” Jason stipulates, and Slade starts to nod before stopping himself, lips pressed in a thin line as he stares back.

“There’s a toll when you come back, _uccello._ You know better than anyone. But I can minimize the _damaging_ effects if we agree on that toll now.”

Roy doesn’t deserve the hell Jason went through, the months spent half braindead, operating on vicious instinct and trying not to lose himself entirely. He doesn’t deserve needing the Lazarus Pits to Reach something like wholeness again. A toll is the _last_ thing Jason wants for Roy, but he knows Slade is right.

“You got somethin’ in mind?” Jason asks; Slade wouldn’t have brought it up if he didn’t; but Slade doesn’t answer right away.

“You know our world- our reality, and universe, as it is now- isn’t right?” he begins conversationally, raising a brow and pursing his lips when Jason goes to interrupt him. “Let me finish. The Speed Force and her favorites play fast and loose with reality, pardon the pun, and about… oh, seven years ago? They broke things very thoroughly, and put them back together all wrong. Lost some pieces. Shoved some together that weren’t meant to be.”

The pointed stare that accompanies the last sentence slides into Jason’s gut, and Slade watches for a good long moment before he nods for him to continue.

“A life for a life, Jason.” It’s soft, so soft, and Jason hates how it almost seems _gentle_ despite knowing what Slade is and what he’s asking. “I won’t take yours, and I won’t take his, but I will take the one you shared.”

“The Outlaws weren’t exactly under the radar. You can’t just take memories of our whole team from other people,” he argues, ridiculously grateful when Slade doesn’t comment on the desperate attempt to steer them away from his suggestion, simply gives him a reproachful look.

“I _could_ , but I won’t,” Slade corrects. “I’m not getting rid of all of it, just his feelings for you after things were remade. The affection, the friendship, the love- as Robin, you’d have been a nuisance at best, and a poor replacement for Grayson at worst. And as Outlaws? You’d be a teammate. A comrade in arms. Someone he simply tolerated. He’d be Dick Grayson’s best friend in the world, like he was meant to be, with no memory of what he shared with you.”

His mouth dries out as Slade speaks, and it takes Jason a long moment to get himself to reply. “What about me? Do I forget?”

There’s that softness again, that sympathy. Jason hates it. “That’s your price, _uccello_. You remember it all. It breaks your heart, while Roy never realizes what he’s missing.”

Jason knows his answer, even before he thinks over the deal Slade has offered. Roy, whole and well, _alive_ , in exchange for Jason never getting his husband, his partner, his best friend, back. It’s a simple choice.

“So how do we close this deal? Handshake? Magic contract signed in blood? Fiddle contest?”

Slade snorts a laugh, smirk creeping across his face again. “Call me old-fashioned, but I still seal mine with a kiss,” he intones, brows raised.

“Call you a fuckin’ old perv, is more like it,” Jason scoffs.

“Show me a demon who’s a prude and the next deal’s on the house,” he deadpans. “Are we doing this or not?”

Jason nods, finally letting Slade’s feet touch the ground, fist still curled in the front of his jumpsuit, and he rolls his eyes and uses the grip to tug Slade down when the demon eyes him up and down. The kiss isn’t pleasant- Slade’s mouth tastes like blood, and his facial hair scratches, and the demon’s tongue against the seam of his mouth makes Jason shudder, and not in a good way- but it’s for Roy.

It’s all for Roy.

Slade pulls back and smiles down at him, far too smug, as Jason removes his hands from him entirely, shoving them deep in his jacket pockets as he steps back, giving Slade enough room to sit in the interrogation room chair again.

“You sure you don’t want me to spring you from this shithole?” Jason offers again- Slade might be a literal demon, but Arkham ain’t a cakewalk- but he gets a dismissive wave in return.

“My next rotation after crossroads duty is punishment- where better to brush up on tormenting sinners than Arkham?” he chuckles, and Jason just shakes his head, sighing softly.

“Whatever. See you around, old man.”

Slade nods briefly, “And you, _uccello_.”

Jason’s chest aches as he leaves his love and Gotham behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm alive and the rhato writers suck at writing bruce wayne


End file.
